Walking the Knight's Path
by ice princess deluxe
Summary: My contribution to the LJ community ten by ten. The challenge: write ten connecting stories based on the prompts given. All "life post-game" Basch-centric, so spoilers ahead.
1. people

Title: Cracked Masks  
Rating: G  
Prompt: a child (#10 people)  
Characters/Pairing: Basch (claim), Noah  
Warnings: spoilers for end of game  
Summary: All he ever wanted was to be himself.  
Author's Note: I don't know how much in order each of these are going to be, but I'm going with "life post-game" for Basch. I haven't played RW, so I'm taking the easy way out and ignoring any events that occur in that game for this entire series.

* * *

Growing up, Basch and Noah had been hard to tell apart. When their mother had fussed and badgered the boys into getting haircuts – the short, cropped styles were better suited for summers in Landis – Basch had resisted. He liked the fact that with his longer hair, he could be differentiated from his twin.

Then winter came along and with it, Noah let his hair grow out, blurring the line between siblings yet again.

As a child, Basch had broken his arm. He and Noah had been horsing around like usual, playing with bits of fallen tree branches as if they were swords, pretending to be great knights defending their country from the Archadian Empire. It had been an accident; Noah had swung both of his branches – he always did prefer to pretend he wielded dual swords – and while Basch had been able to block one blow with his single branch, he hadn't been able to escape the second. There was an awful crack and then Basch went down to the ground, holding his arm with a hand while his mouth opened up in a silent scream of pain. Their mother had blistered their behinds, though the punishment had been undermined by the way she made sure Basch was comfortable with his new wrappings holding his arm tight and how she had comforted Noah, who had been far more panicked than Basch had, as if it had been his arm that had a bone sticking out of it instead. With the bindings in place to ensure his arm healed properly, Basch had been happy to once again be told apart from his brother.

Or else he had been. That was before Noah, in an attempt to cheer him up, decided to wear similar bindings. When it came time for Basch's to come off, both boys had one arm that was skinnier than the other.

At fourteen, Basch had a horrible crush on a girl that worked in the sundries shop near his town. He wouldn't say anything to her, but he would blush when she stared at him or when she helped him out. One day, he got the courage to speak to her, but was dismayed when she called him by his brother's name instead. He walked away, never correcting her.

At thirty-four, he watched helplessly as his brother took his identity and used it to kill the king he had so loyally served for years. Even as he shouted out a warning, one of his captors struck him, causing searing pain to spread from his forehead to his temple. He watched through the blood dripping in his eye as Noah – now Gabranth, as he was calling himself, though Basch wondered how their late mother would view the use of her maiden name – stabbed the young Reks, who believed that it was Basch doing the injury instead.

It was two years later while shearing his long hair and shaving down his overgrown beard in a storeroom of Lowtown that Basch saw in a broken shard of mirror the ragged looking scar that ran down the side of his face. He had smiled grimly, knowing that there was no way that anyone would confuse brothers ever again.

At thirty-six, the sleek armor of a Judge Magister weighing heavy on his shoulders, Basch stared at his reflection. The mirror in his quarters was ornately carved, but the man staring back wasn't. He looked tired and weary, his newly cut hair showing off angles in his face, leaving nothing hidden. After years of making a name for himself in Dalmasca, now he was playing Noah's part, putting on his brother's clothes and taking on his life. There were so many things he had yet to learn, but he was determined to make the illusion complete.

He stared down at the jar of ointment in his hands. The palace's healer had promised that with regular application, the scar on his face would fade over time, disappearing almost to nothingness.

He turned away from the mirror and picked up the helmet sitting at a nearby table. Placing it over his head, Basch – now Gabranth - bit down the bitter resentment he felt towards his twin.


	2. things

Title: Peeling Back Armor

Rating: G  
Prompt: an old book (#6 Things)  
Characters/Pairing: Basch (claim); Gabranth/Drace  
Warnings: spoilers from before Mt. Bur-Omisace to end of game  
Summary: He hoped to find clues as to how he now needed to act.

* * *

One of the first things Basch did when coming to Archades was go through his brother's belongings. He didn't do so out of idle curiosity, but to learn who his brother had been in the almost twenty years they had been apart. He hoped to find clues as to how he now needed to act, who he must interact with, what Noah might have been last working on.

He didn't find much; his brother's sleeping quarters were sparse and utilitarian – even though the sheets on the bed were of the highest quality and the wood furniture well made, the décor had stayed simple. There was a chest holding neatly folded clothes, many of which were made to go underneath armor, though there were few civilian style pieces as well. Bookshelves lined the walls of the modest sized connecting office, book after book of Archadian law contained within each. Basch ran his hand over the spines, determined to commit each tome to memory.

A heavy desk took up an entire wall, the surface clear of clutter, the drawers organized with precision. Rifling through the bottom drawer, far to the back and placed under many heavy stacks of notebooks as if Noah hadn't wanted anyone to find it, Basch found a piece of parchment, yellowed with age and heavily creased, as if it had been folded, unfolded and then refolded many times. With careful fingers, Basch smoothed out the paper, finding a child's drawing inside. There in the center was a small blob of white and green, topped with a messy smudge of black. Flanking and looking as if the figure was holding a hand to each were larger black scribbles. The left was drawn with enough detail to make out curving horns on the helmet.

At the lower right hand corner, written in familiar small, neat script much like Basch's own handwriting was a title reading _G, L, D – Larsa, aged five_. Basch carefully refolded the picture and placed it back where he had found it.

Under a few sheets of paper in the first drawer, Basch unearthed a list of sorts. There were honing stones, armor padding, and other such items written down, but each had a line crossed through them. Underneath, Noah had made a note: _Drace, impossible to shop for. Purchase something with lace and risk her wrath instead._

"So you had a lady," Basch murmured. He wondered who this woman was. Guessing that the "D" in the picture Larsa had drawn years ago and the Drace that Noah spoke of were one and the same, he made a mental note to ask Larsa.

The last place left to investigate was the bedside table back in his new sleeping quarters. There were no drawers, but a single book lay on the surface. It was old, the ends of the pages uneven in their binding, as if it had been repaired numerous times. Basch recognized the title, his throat tightening at the gold letters describing fables and fairy stories from his homeland. He might not have remembered each tale, but he remembered vividly how his mother would read to him and his brother every night right before they went to bed. Thinking that it was the same volume their mother used to have, Basch opened the cover.

It wasn't; he knew that from the spiky handwriting on the front fly leaf. _Happy thirtieth,_ it said. _We may not have our past, but that doesn't mean you need to forget where you come from. D_

"They tried to be discreet, but we all knew," a voice said from the door. Basch turned to see Judge Zargabaath leaning against the doorframe.

"Who is she?"

"She was Lord Larsa's guardian. One of them, at least. Ghis used to ridicule how she and your brother tried to pretend that there wasn't anything between them." He looked down at the floor momentarily. "It must have destroyed something in Gabranth to be the one to strike her down on Vayne's orders."

"It must have been hard to lose the one he loved."

"It must have." They stared at the other for a while before Zargabaath continued. "We are colleagues, you and I. And while we work for the same lord, we are not friends. Gabranth is a private man who keeps his own council. Because of this, Vayne had you investigated to see where your loyalties ultimately lie. As head of the Ninth Bureau, you will be able to obtain the files containing all the information you could have ever wanted to know about yourself. They are in the archives."

Basch set the book back on the table. "I thank you," he said.

Zargabaath put on his helmet. "I did not tell you that for your benefit," he said, his words echoing around the metal. "I serve the Empire and our young Emperor needs all the allies he can muster to his side. It would not do if the most common of peasants could see through your guise, putting Lord Larsa in danger."

Basch listened as Zargabaath's armored boots echoed down the hall. Picking up his brother's helmet, he made his way out of his room, hoping that he could recall the way to the archives correctly.


	3. words

Title: Parts of a Whole  
Rating: G  
Prompt: words (#6 patchwork)  
Characters/Pairing: Basch, Larsa, Gabranth/Drace  
Warnings: post-game  
Summary: There were things about Gabranth that Basch had never known.

* * *

Basch quickly found out that his brother had been highly organized, almost to the point of being so organized that one got lost trying to find what they were looking for in files to begin with. It was a surprise; Noah had been the sloppier of the two when they were growing up. The filing system was easy to adapt to once he studied the neatly marked notes written in a hand almost identical to his own.

He noted on the first occasion he and Larsa were alone that the relationship his brother had with the young emperor went beyond being a guardian. Larsa was more relaxed and at ease than he was when out in the public eye. He seemed to catch himself that he wasn't with the Gabranth he was used to when he stopped in the middle of saying something and instantly sobered.

"He was a friend," Larsa said, not looking at Basch. "Sometimes…sometimes I had wished that he had been one of my brothers."

When Basch found the small scraps of paper filled with childish drawings Noah had kept in his desk like treasured keepsakes, he knew his brother had felt the same.

Noah's private journal read much like a general's strategy guide when it came to the woman named Drace. Apparently, she didn't like the fact that Noah had risen so quickly through the ranks when she had to claw her way up to where she had been. Noah had set out to befriend her before she wound up killing him, but then grew intrigued by her quick mind and deep sense of honor.

Basch laughed out loud at the note _flowers don't work, but surprise ambush kiss attack a smashing success. Bit lip and blackened eye were worth it._

Gathering little tidbits of information, both familiar and new, allowed Basch to stitch together a patchwork picture of the man his brother had been. He had been respected and admired by many, envied and plotted upon by several. He had been loved by a select few and had loved them back in return. He had been both strong in will as well as in character.

Basch hoped that he would be able to live as such a man, even as he mourned not being able to know him in life.


	4. places

Title: You Are Here  
Rating: G  
Prompt: places (#8 a busy city)  
Characters/Pairing: Basch  
Warnings: post-game spoilers?  
Summary: He was proud of his progress.  
Author's Note: What? A Basch fic from me that doesn't have angst?

* * *

Getting used to the many twisting streets and alleyways of Archades was accomplished far easier when the tell-tale armor of a Judge Magister was left on its stand back at the Imperial palace. Of course he could have sat in his rooms and poured over the multitude of maps at his disposal, but he always learned better by doing things himself and seeing where everything was in its natural setting instead of trying to visualize it from a graphed out piece of paper. Normal clothing that wasn't too elaborate to stick out in the older portions of the city nor too worn to gather attention in the rich sections afforded Basch the anonymity to wander and mentally map out the busy city. Gabranth's face minus the helmet was not known and no one expected to run into a Captain who was supposed to be two years in his grave.

Basch wound his way through the city slowly, noting landmarks as well as street names. He had spent the past week doing just the same and was pretty satisfied with his progress, patting himself on the back for a job well done. He opened a side door, stopping in his tracks at a woman's piercing screech. "Apologies," he muttered, face reddening as he hastily backed out, closing the door behind him just in time to avoid being hit by a porcelain ewer full of water. He winced at the sound of it shattering behind the door.

Looking around, he made a note. The tavern was _two_ doors down to the right, not three.


	5. actions

Title: Thrust, Parry, Twist. Repeat.  
Rating: G  
Prompt: actions (#1 dance)  
Characters/Pairing: Basch  
Warnings: post-game  
Summary: He wasn't leaving until it felt right.

* * *

Training in heavy armor wasn't new to Basch. He was used to going through drills under the unforgiving desert sun, practically baking as the metal reflected heat back onto him. The cooler climate of Archades was a welcome factor, especially as he put in extra time to get used to two blades instead of merely one.

He closed his eyes, easing his muscles into a well-rehearsed stance. He brought the blade in his right hand across his body to attack, then his left hand followed to deflect a blow. Pivoting on the balls of his feet, he swung himself to the side, withdrawing his right blade as he stepped away from one imaginary opponent and moved on to the next. He repeated the move, adding in swings and different angles of attack, his body moving gracefully over the training arena floor, almost as if he were performing a deadly dance.

He shook his head to the side to get the sweat dripping down his face out of his eyes. Hefting both blades in his hands, he weighed them. Their balance was perfect, the weight evenly distributed. The problem was on his end – they still didn't feel as if they were extensions of his arms yet.

Rotating his shoulders, he took his battle stance again, determined to get it right.


	6. foods

Title: Picky Eater  
Rating: G  
Prompt: foods (#10 soup)

Characters/Pairing: Basch, Gabranth  
Warnings: post-game stuff  
Summary: There were times people thought he'd eat the plates themselves.

* * *

As boys, Basch and Noah might have been hard to tell apart, but once someone put plates of food in front of them, the differences were plain to see. While Basch ate everything – and people oftentimes feared for their plates as well – Noah was more finicky. And while Noah loved certain summer crops, Basch balked and avoided them completely.

That little quirk was why a thirty-seven year old man stared at the bowl of soup in front of him as if it were his mortal enemy.

"I thought you _loved_ cabbages," the cook lamented when Basch hardly touched the dish. "I made it special, just for you."

And because Basch knew that this elderly cook had been close to his brother – Noah used to cajole her to bake extra cookies for Larsa – he picked up his spoon and choked down every last bite.


	7. emotions

Title: Ghosts  
Rating: PG-13  
Prompt: emotions (#9 boredom)  
Characters/Pairing: Basch (claim); Larsa; original characters  
Warnings: end of game spoilers, slight adult content, Basch/Original Character  
Summary: "Your brother, Basch? Did he have a family?"  
Author's Note: Ever since the first time I saw Basch, I wanted to give him a family. He's thirty-four at the beginning of the game; I figured that even as a career military man, he had settled down with someone. Written mostly to appease my inner fangirl, even if it did come out angstier than I had originally planned.

* * *

"Gabranth?"

"My lord?" It was a rainy day in Archades, the sky nearly the same color as Basch's armor. Seven months had passed since he had taken on Noah's mantle of protector, and he was satisfied that things had gone well.

"I was wondering," It wasn't like Larsa to stall. "Your brother, Basch?"

Basch turned from the window and looked at the young Emperor. Even after seven months, it was odd to talk about himself as if in third person. "Yes?"

"Did he have a family?"

Basch took an involuntary step backwards. He didn't know if it was boredom or plain curiosity or an attempt to know his new guardian better, but the question cut him to the quick.

"Our mother died over fifteen years ago." He had been in Dalmasca. Noah had sent him a letter, angry about the way he had abandoned kin for a king he shouldn't have been loyal to. "Our father had passed on many years before that." They had been six, determined to be the men of the house. Basch couldn't remember how his father had looked like, though his mother had often said how much both boys favored him.

"Is that the only family then?"

Basch turned away and stared out the window. Rain slicked down the glass obscuring his view of the city. "A son." Gafin, small and wailing in his birthing blankets, pale blond hair almost like fuzz atop his head. Basch, fearless in battle and the scourge of his enemies, deathly afraid to hold on too tightly for fear of hurting his infant son. "He is your age now; he will be thirteen in a month and a half." Gafin, learning how to sit up, the wooden chocobo Basch had painstakingly carved tight in his chubby little hands. Gafin, determined to learn to run before he could properly walk. Gafin, who would curl up as Basch's side to sleep when nightmares visited, who ran, arms flung wide to greet Basch on his days of leave, who had wanted _everyone_ to know that his father was _the_ Basch fon Ronsenburg. His son, whom he trained in swordplay with wooden blades during the day and ran his fingers through the boy's hair as he slept at night.

He closed his eyes, remembering the last time he had seen him. It was rushed; he needed to reach Nalbina and their king before the treaty had been signed.

"_I will protect Mother until you return."_ At ten, Gafin was already starting to grow, though he had resembled a lanky beanpole at the time, all height and hardly any substance. Basch had reached out and put a hand on his shoulder, resisting the fatherly urge to muss Gafin's hair, which was as golden as his own.

"_I know you will."_ He had given into temptation then, gathering his boy to his chest for a hasty hug. _"Be sure to mind her as well."_

"_I will."_

"Gabranth?"

Basch blinked. "My lord?"

"Are you all right?"

He nodded, giving Larsa a faint, barely there smile. "I am. Apologies, I was miles away." He cleared his throat. "Is there anything you need of me before I leave?" He was setting out as part of a diplomatic party to Rozarria. While there, he would try to dig up as much information as he could behind the scenes for Larsa.

Larsa knew when to drop a subject, thankfully. "No. Have a safe trip."

Several hours later, ensconced in his private quarters aboard the airship headed to Rosaria, Basch stared at the files in front of him. According to his informants, Gafin was healthy and settling in as a delivery boy in Balfonheim. He also did odd jobs around the port city, the extra gil earned helping out his mother.

His mother. Basch had been grateful that Larsa hadn't asked about her. When he had been branded a traitor and supposedly executed, the marriage contract between him and his wife had been voided. Also according to his informants – and he didn't feel the slightest bit of guilt about using the resources available to him for personal reasons – she made a tidy living working in the combined protective and weapon shops. Both she and their son had been living in the small apartments above the shop for two years.

His fingers tightened on the report. They had been there, right under his nose, all those months ago and he hadn't known it. While reaching the Pharos had been important, he would have liked to have been reunited with his family, to let them know that he was still alive. He grit his teeth in frustration and set the report aside.

Added to the report were several detailed sketches of both his wife and son, which he had run his fingers over again and again. "Gwen." Her hair was longer than it had been that last day. She had a scarf tied around it now, the ends of the material brushing her shoulders. Even though the picture was done in black ink, Basch didn't need color to remember the way her light brown hair had always shone in the sunlight or how it had felt running through his fingers and across his bare chest.

He closed his eyes, recalling the soft texture of her skin, the way the curve of her hip fit perfectly in his hand as they lay spooned together in their bed, her back to his front. He didn't need a picture to remind him of the way her lips felt against his or how she would contentedly run her hands through his hair as he rested his head on her chest, sweat cooling on both their bodies. Two years away from her had not erased all the years of memories.

"_Don't go,"_ she had pleaded, even as she held his shield in her hands. _"I have a bad feeling."_

"_I must go,"_ he had replied, buckling on his sword belt. _"It is my duty."_ He should have listened to her; in all the years of marriage and even when he was merely courting her, she had never asked him to stay.

He had framed her face with his hands and kissed her, hoping to assuage her fears. _"I will come back to you, I give you my word."_

Opening his eyes, he sighed at his broken promise. Reluctantly setting aside his past – the pictures tucking neatly under his breastplate and into the jerkin he wore underneath – he picked up another document detailing spice smuggling by Rozarrian privateers. He made notes in the margins, focusing now on his future.


	8. events

Title: Milestones  
Rating: G  
Prompt: events (#4 anniversary)  
Characters/Pairing: Basch, slight Balthier/Ashe, Ashe Basch  
Warnings: post-game  
Summary: If only the price of victory wasn't so high.

* * *

He celebrated small milestones in his new life quietly. The first week as Gabranth was spent memorizing the Imperial palace's layout, complete with hidden tunnels and secret panels connecting rooms together. That first week and well into the next month, Basch would push the panel in his room to find Larsa curled up in Drace's bed, one of her spare gauntlets cradled protectively against his chest. He never heard the boy cry, but he would often see the tracks where tears dried over his cheeks.

The second month as Gabranth was celebrated by successfully maneuvering through the crowded city streets without having to stop and consult the detailed map he had mentally created. He rewarded himself by buying a pint of cool pale ale at the tavern. He even remembered to use the special entrance that only higher-ups on the social ladder knew of. The last time he had entered by the common way, people stared and whispered behind his back.

The fifth month as Gabranth was noted when his informants and others that worked under him stopped looking at the other before following whatever order he had just given. Later on, one of them confessed that they were glad he was feeling more like himself; they had worried that he had fallen ill. Jokingly, they said that Gabranth must have been sick if he had acted as if he had forgotten trivial things that he had done every day for the past twenty years. Basch did not comment.

The first year as Gabranth was spent in Dalmasca. Larsa was visiting Ashe on the anniversary of the peace treaty signing. It was strange, staring at familiar places through as still unfamiliar guise. It wasn't until Ashe greeted him as Judge Magister that he really understood what had troubled him all day though. The formal tone she used and the way she treated him like the stranger he was supposed to be cut something deep in his soul.

Late that night, tired of staring at the ceiling of the lavish guest room he had been put up in, Basch wandered aimlessly until he found himself standing inside the garrison, his feet automatically taking him to the training grounds he had spent so much of his time in for years.

"I thought I might find you here."

Basch turned his head to see Ashe standing in the shadows. "I couldn't sleep," he confessed.

"Neither could I." Her eyes went past the walls to where Bahamut lay. "A whole year."

She didn't need to say anything else. He understood what she meant. A whole year of peace, of meetings, of triumphs large and small. It also meant a year of quietly mourning those that were not with them any longer. In Ashe's case, that meant a certain sky pirate. There had been a search, but no bodies had ever been found.

And like her, there wasn't a body to visit for him either. His brother's ashes had been scattered over Landis, where Basch was certain he would have wanted to be laid to rest. Larsa had insisted that all but a handful be taken there, the remainder blown into the Archadian winds where Noah had made his second life.

Ashe looked up at him and he was reminded of the little girl in pigtails who had run after her brothers, then later on as the young woman who he had taught to use a sword. "We have lost much," he finally told her, looking around at what had once been his home that was now forever labeled as a destination to briefly visit. "Yet that is the price we must pay for our victories."

She came up to him then, surprising him when she wrapped her arms around his waist and buried her head against his chest. "There are times I wish the price hadn't been so high."

He stroked his hand from the crown of her head to her back, just like he had done so many times when she had been a child and she had come to him with a skinned knee or a nightmare. "As do I." His arms tightened around her and he rested the cheek against her hair. "As do I."


	9. quote

Title: Clean Slates  
Rating: G  
Prompt: Quote (#9 "It's funny the way people love the dead. Once you're dead, you're made for life." - Jimi Hendrix)

Characters/Pairing: Basch, Balthier/Ashe  
Warnings: post-game  
Summary: Word of the prodigal Bunansa's second return slowly filtered through Archades.

* * *

Word of the prodigal Bunansa's second return slowly filtered through Archades. When it finally reached Gabranth's ears, he gave no outward sign that he had been disturbed by the news or that it was even worth looking into. If he had removed his helmet though, people would have stepped back from the murderous glint in his eye.

Late that night, long after the midnight bells had tolled, Basch crept towards the Aerodrome where the Strahl had been reported to be docked.

"He's waiting for you," Fran said casually as she opened the cargo bay doors. "And you're early." The Viera had her customary saunter as they walked inside the ship, but Basch noticed she limped and favored a leg.

"Expecting me in the dead of night then?"

Fran raised an elegantly shaped eyebrow as the corner of her mouth quirked upwards. "Something like that." She gestured towards the closed cabin door. "Don't rush to conclusions so quickly. I'd hate to lose my pilot."

"Defending him?"

Fran shrugged. "Only doing what I know he'd do for me if our roles were reversed. Good night. It was good to see you again." With that, she turned to her own cabin and quietly closed the door behind her.

Basch turned the handle on Balthier's door and pushed it open. A year and a half hadn't changed much; the cabin was still sparsely furnished for functionality's sake though everything inside was geared towards Balthier's love of creature comforts.

"What, no armor?" Balthier asked, his body partially hidden in shadow from where he lay on his bed.

"Civilian clothes are better for stealth," Basch replied, crossing his arms in front of him. "So, you are alive."

Balthier stacked his hands behind his head. "Not exactly. Ffamran is alive. Balthier is still very much dead at the moment." He took one of his hands from behind his head and waved it dismissively. "Though not for very much longer. Ffamran is such a stuffy sounding name; I've wondered just what my mother was thinking when she gave it to me. I've always disliked it."

"It's funny the way people love the dead," Basch growled, recalling letters from Dalmasca. Ashe may not have ever told him outright what her feelings had been for the sky pirate, but he had long since learned to interpret everything that she didn't say to truly understand her. She might have been completely busy with trying to regain her throne, but she had quietly mourned the man that she believed dead.

"Yes, but once you're dead, you're made for life." There was a flash of white in the gloom, Balthier's trademark grin in place. "Bahamut acted as a clean slate for me; all the warrants for my arrest have now been declared defunct. When I make my grand re-entrance into the land of the living, the retraction of said warrants will be legally binding. No one will have anything on me any longer."

Basch clenched his fists. "That's what you're waiting for? Some documents saying you're wanted for crimes to expire?"

"Well, there _is_ a lot of red tape to go though. You lawmaking types can't make anything simple."

He cleared the room in several quick strides. "Ashe has thought you dead for over a year. Have you no common decency to let her know that you are indeed alive? Does she matter at all to you?" Basch's hands grabbed Balthier by the shoulders, dragging the younger man up out of the shadows and into the light.

"Can you see why I haven't said anything to her now?" Balthier asked, his eyes narrowing. The entire right side of his face was marred with scars that ran from his hairline down to his jaw. Some were fading to white while others were still a livid red. One bisected his eyebrow and stopped just at his cheek, going down over the eye itself. "Explosion at the very end," he explained. "It took nearly a year full of potions and spells to regain sight in that eye and months afterward for Fran to finally walk without pain. Whatever you may think of me, I wasn't about to leave her just so I could ride off into the sunset with my lady."

"You could have given her a sign that you were alive."

"She has her ring back, does she not?"

Basch exhaled and stepped away. "And the something more valuable?"

Balthier adjusted the cuffs of his sleeves. "Do you think that her advisors would allow someone with a record to court their queen? When my name is cleared for good, I'll go to her." He looked down and for a brief moment Basch thought he saw doubt cloud his face. "If she'll still have me, that is."

"If you think her shallow enough that she'll shun you for a few marks on your face, then obviously you know nothing of her."

Balthier rolled his eyes. "I'm not worried about that. The fact that I haven't seen her for over a year bothers me."

Basch looked at him again. He might be aloof to a fault, but it was clear that he cared for Ashe. "She hasn't written about any suitors lately, if that is what you're concerned about."

Balthier visibly relaxed. "Well, then that's a weight off my shoulders. I would hate to tell the competition to back off." He looked at Basch. "And what do you say of this? You are her protector, after all."

"Her Majesty released me from those bonds. I serve the Empire."

"You may say the words, but we both know where your loyalties lie; oaths or no."

Basch sighed. "You are a good man, Balthier, present disappearance notwithstanding." He leaned forward, his expression serious. "Though if you give her more cause for grief, I will do worse than kill you."

Balthier swallowed. "That would be an abuse of power, Your Honor."

Basch shrugged. "It's what, as you say, us lawmaking types live for." He turned to leave the room. "Dalmasca is a several hour flight from here. I suggest you work on a very eloquent apology for your absence."

"Duly noted."

"And a word of caution: Ashe tends to strike out when she's angry. She has a strong right hook."

Balthier's laugh echoed down the hall after Basch. "Thanks for the warning," he faintly heard as he exited the Strahl. He briefly thought about writing a note to inform Ashe of her pirate's return, but thought better of it. He decided to let her find out on her own.

Besides, he had a pardon to persuade Larsa to grant.


	10. color

Title: Heard it Through the Grapevine  
Rating: G  
Prompt: colors (#8 red flowers)  
Characters/Pairing: Basch (claim), Larsa -- Penelo  
Warnings: post game. RW? What RW?  
Summary: He never thought he'd use his station for these purposes.

* * *

Judge Magister Gabranth, a man that even his own informants didn't like meeting in a darkened alleyway, head of the intelligence network and in charge of making sure the Emperor was abreast with all new information, sighed and rubbed his temples with both hands. His head ached and all he wanted to do was retire to his rooms for the night with a tankard of ale.

According to his sources, who had gotten the information from _their_ sources, who had gone through rigorous information gathering before even _thinking_ of reporting, the sky pirate Penelo adored Galbana lilies. This was also confirmed by Vaan, who had nearly fallen over laughing at the lengths Basch had to go through just so Larsa would stop worrying that he should have sent her something else besides the red flowers.

"Perhaps I should have included chocolates as well," the eighteen-year-old Emperor mused. "What kind do you think she'd like?"

Gabranth silently groaned. This time he was going to save himself the headache by just asking Penelo herself.


End file.
